


Laundry Day

by Mithlomi



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M, Friendship and Fluff, Gen, I am incapable of writing anything without putting Constance/d'Art in it..., There are only four musketeers apparently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:44:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1505864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithlomi/pseuds/Mithlomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She balanced the basket on her hip as strode into the garrison...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laundry Day

**Author's Note:**

> Stupid, harmless fluffy good times. Don't take this too seriously, I just wanted Constance interacting with the boys. This is Elly's fault again, as always
> 
> Unbeta'd

It was no strange sight to see Constance Bonacieux on her way to the Musketeer’s garrison. She made little attempt to hide her involvement with their schemes any longer; she was never any good at hiding it in the first place. Neither was it odd to see rather the large basket perched on her hip as she strode into the courtyard, setting it on the table with a decisive thud.

She took a great deal of pride in being a contradiction, even if it was not the done thing. She would never be as bold as the Comtess de Laroque; she could not afford to be. It was little things that contributed towards her act of rebellion against the patriarchy views of woman hood- she refused to hold her tongue and she would learn how to defend herself with both sword and pistol if she deemed it necessary.

And then there were the days when she embraced her feminine traits. There were things she could do that men could not… Or at least, in her humble opinion, they could not do very well.

And cleaning clothes was one of them.

If her home had become their secondary base of operations, then they would treat it was respect- and a modicum of personal hygiene. If she had to do it herself, then so be it.

Hence, a weekly visit to the garrison to collect soiled shirts and ripped coats was a benefit to them all. 

d’Artagnan, of course, noticed her presence first and she graced him with a small smile. His clothes, of course, were already at her house. She had picked them up from his bedroom floor, along with her own skirts and chemise, where they lay discarded from the night before…

She blushed slightly at the memory, before remembering where they were. While she was certain the nature of their relationship had not gone unnoticed by the others, they would not go so far as to acknowledge it in public just yet. Besides, she liked the fact that this was their secret, that she could enjoy him all to herself…

That did not stop him brushing his fingertips lightly over her waist as he passed her behind her, dangerously close she could feel his breath against her neck as he moved to sit at the bench beside her, a self-satisfied smirk on his handsome features.

She would take great pleasure in wiping that from his face later…

She opened her mouth to placate him but was cut off by the arrival of his brother-in-arms.

Constance sighed dramatically and turned with a raised brow to face Aramis’ smug yet-still-incredibly-charming grin. He literally must have been waiting.

With a tip of his hat, eyes never leaving hers, he dumped his dirty laundry into the basket and scooped her hand up in one swift move, pressing his lips to her knuckles. “Madame, you are an angel…”

She could have sworn she heard d’Artagnan roll his eyes.

She was having none of it. He insisted on this overgrown display every time she appeared to save him from this task. It was almost like he wanted her to slap him, and that was the only reason she resisted.

And, well… she did not mind. Not really. 

Constance snatched her hand away, searching through his clothing. “And you are a demon sent here to test my divine patience…” She fought hard to hide her own smirk. She enjoyed their teasing, just as much as he did. He would take as good as he gave.

His hat was already held against his breast. “Madame, you would wound me so, if you were not correct. But alas, my task is impossible for I have truly found the most perfect woman- you are incorruptible, are you not?”

There was an incorrigible spark in his gaze and for the briefest of moments, his eyes flickered towards d’Artagnan…

She opened her mouth but found herself unable to speak at his brazen suggestion. He just knew, didn’t he?

Bastard…

He was saved from her attempt to throttle him by Porthos, who pulled him away with a jolt. “Give over. One day you’re gonna get a swift kick some to the stomach and we’re all just going to laugh…”

"One can live in hope." He winked at her as he moved away and it was her turn to roll her eyes, before turning to her next customer.

He was always a little sheepish as he placed the bundle into the basket. “You don’t have to keep doing this, you know?”

She gave him a small smile, placing a hand on his arm. The kindest of them all, and the most loyal, Constance had always appreciated his honesty. They had a lot in common, she had found, and she enjoyed his company. He was easy to talk to, a bright smile and a warm heart.

"I want to," she assured him. "I want to help. However I can…"

It couldn’t have been easy this life they had chosen, even if they had chosen it. To constantly be on edge, looking over you shoulder, to move from one battle to the next, one way to die to another. As much as she craved the adventure, the excitement, the emotional toil was not something she was certain she could get used to.

So whether they needed her to act as the distraction, or to put a sword in her hand, or simply to do their washing, she would do so without complaint if it would ease their troubles… 

And helped her with her own too…

But these thoughts were much too serious for so early in the morning so instead she simply turned her bright grin towards Porthos once more. He chuckled, that wonderful booming laughter that filled the courtyard. “You’re a good woman, Constance. Thank you…”

He too sent a raised brow in d’Artagnan’s direction who gave him his best innocent look. She giggled softly before picking up the basket once more.

"Are they upstairs?" 

d’Artagnan nodded. “Good luck.” 

She would need it. They were her biggest challenge.

She did not like to disturb them; they could be discussing something important, something that required absolute secrecy, that no one should know…

But then it was always better to catch them off guard.

She knocked once on the door before striding inside, giving them just enough time to stop what they were doing. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

Treville sighed, hanging his head. It was the same action he reserved for his men when they were being difficult… and knowing there was little he could do about it.

"Madame Bonacieux…" he started, voice low, warning.

She cut him off by placing the basket on his desk. “In there, please.” She gave him her sweetest smile.

The Captain gave another sigh, resigned to his fate.

Athos, on the other hand, simply raised a brow.

A challenge. She matched his gaze. “I told you to bring it here. If you haven’t, I’m more than happy to fetch it for you…”

He said nothing, slowly stepping forward and pulling his loosely tied bundle from some hidden corner. “I have long since learnt not to argue with you, Constance.” There, just at the corner of his mouth. A small smirk.

She could take that victory.

"Well, you would be the only one. Even the tactician; I admire your ability to know when you are beaten."

"As you must be. When do you find the time to do all this…"

She picked up the basket, an effort now with how heavy it had grown, although she gave him a small smirk. “Ahh. Allow me to keep my secrets, Monsieur.”

Treville arrived once more, carefully adding his shirts to the stack. “At least take one of them with you to carry this.”

She nodded her thanks, the same grin she gave him earlier. He simply shook his head and Constance took that as her sign to retreat.

Athos followed, only to find d’Artagnan waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. He took the basket without a word, just a spark of mischief in his eyes.

Porthos called across the yard. “You got musket practice later; don’t be too long…”

She could hear the lecherous tone in Aramis voice. “Oh don’t worry. I don’t think he will be…” 

Quicker than she thought possible, she grabbed his bundle of clothes and threw it at his head.

It his his mark perfectly. Porthos’ laughed followed them all the way home.


End file.
